


A United Front

by wingeddserpent



Category: Final Fantasy V
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Incest, Politics, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/pseuds/wingeddserpent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faris is part time King of the Seas, part time King of Tycoon. Or something like that. (Anyway, Lenna is the one who wears the pants.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A United Front

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accidental_zombie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidental_zombie/gifts).



The thing about Faris is that, while she comes and goes as she pleases, she always is there when Lenna needs her. And Tycoon holding a large diplomatic banquet of course requires the presence of her sister. Technically, Faris is the Princess to Lenna’s Queen, but Lenna and Bartz like to joke that Faris is part time King of the Seas, and part time King of Tycoon. 

Lenna wakes the morning of the banquet to find Faris in the study, reading a book at the desk. “Sister,” Lenna says, feels herself smile and her heart is light, warmed by Faris’s brightness. “How is the sea?”

“All’s well. And what of you, Lenna? Tycoon fare well in your competent hands?” Faris leans back in the chair so far it only balances on the back two legs, craning her head back as much as it will go, and stares up at her sister, grinning that wide grin that Lenna always finds herself missing. 

Someone with half as much grace as Faris would topple over and something warm and fluttery catches in Lenna’s throat. With a smile, Lenna steps closer, so that her sister is within arm’s reach. “Tycoon is flourishing. But you knew that already from my last letter,” she teases, even as she examines her sister more critically. 

Faris is thinner beneath the bulk of her jacket than last they met, dark purple rings smudged beneath her eyes. Her face is pale, her hair pulled back in a tumbled mess. As ever, Faris has been living life to the fullest, and Lenna wonders when—not if, because it is sure as the flow of time—the day will come that Faris will not return to her. “Aye, that I did,” and Faris smirks, green eyes twinkling. 

The pendant tumbles out from beneath Faris’s shirt, to rest at her lips, and Lenna never could stop herself—something about Faris makes her lose her sense, her self-control, and it always has, ever since she set foot on her sister’s ship years ago. She reaches out, grasps the pendant and Faris wobbles a little in her chair, but balances again. Probably all the years spent on the sea. 

“I have clothes laid out for you,” Lenna tells her, “But first, you need a bath and breakfast.”

“I refuse to wear any dress, even for you. Not this time, love,” says Faris, her expression hard enough that Lenna realizes that this is not an argument she will win. She bites the inside of her cheek, because while she loves Faris more than anything, sometimes Faris is more of a pirate than Lenna can stand. 

She loves Faris as she is. But Faris has responsibilities here as well as on her ship, and sometimes those responsibilities to Tycoon involve wearing a dress, and almost always involve listening to what Lenna says, because Lenna has been doing this her entire life, and Faris fell into the sea and learned to murder and steal, instead. It is not Faris’s fault, but Lenna wishes—she releases the pendant and Faris returns the chair to its rightful position, then stands. Faris looks down at Lenna, something hard glinting in her eyes. “I also am going to wear my jacket. You can, however, choose the shirt and britches,” she says, voice low, raspy, and Lenna wants to smooth away the lines feathered around her sister’s eyes. 

“Go bathe,” Lenna says, her voice containing more chill than she intends, “I shall postpone breakfast until you are done.”

Without arguing, Faris leaves and Lenna has to keep herself from instinctively reaching out. It is not often she feels like pushing her sister away instead of embracing her. Perhaps she is more concerned about this banquet than she originally thought. 

* * *

Breakfast goes smoothly, for all that Faris regales tales of piracy with her mouth full of pastry and Lenna can barely keep from smoothing her hands over Faris’s face, just so glad that her sister is _here_ , after six months of not seeing her. The servants, despite the fact that Faris has good manners but chooses instead not to use them, seem glad to have her back, smiling and laughing at all the right places in her stories. 

Lenna wishes again, as she twists her napkin between her hands, that this could be Faris’s home. 

* * *

Getting Faris dressed is not half so easy as breakfast. “Faris, the coat is… inappropriate for this dinner,” she says, for what feels like the hundredth time. 

The dress she had picked out was a soft green, designed to give Faris a free range of movement without making her look neither too feminine nor too masculine. It is exactly the kind of dress that Faris would normally grumble about wearing, but actually don, if only to please Lenna. 

“The coat stays,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. 

Bribery it is then. If you want to beat a pirate, best to do it at their own game. Lenna steps closer to Faris, grasps the pendant that still sits outside Faris’s shirt, and _pulls_ , so she can feel Faris’s breath ghosting across her skin, so their lips are a hair’s breath from touching. “Faris—we need to impress these people. More specifically, _you_ need to impress them,” she says, her voice soft, letting the words warm her sister’s mouth, “No one knows anything about you, save that you are given to truancy. We must present a united front. They will be looking for anything— _anything_ with which to strike you down with. Do not give them ammunition.”

Faris leans into the warmth, tries for a kiss, and Lenna pulls back, keeps her sister at bay by pressing on her chest with the hand still wrapped around the pendant. Her sister grimaces, but thankfully chooses not to fight. “Give me the coat, Lenna, and I shall bow to your expertise,” she says, smooth and calm. 

Sometimes, part of being a sister, is picking battles. It certainly is part of being Queen. (As much as Lenna loathes to admit it, she is Queen first, sister second, because otherwise, she would have followed Faris to the sea.) 

“Very well,” Lenna responds, releasing Faris then stepping away. 

She allows Faris to feel the sting of her absence as she goes to find suitable shoes, pants, and some sort of a shirt that will match with Faris’s long coat and make it somehow seem less—menacing. This is not the first time Faris has come to dinner in pants and coat, but it is the first state function she has decided to wear her normal attire to. Of course she would wait until the largest state function Lenna has hosted, the most important dinner Faris has attended as princess, and she then choose _now_ to be difficult. Between herself and Faris, they have three full rooms of clothing—the walls lined with wardrobes and shelves—and maybe she should have a servant come do this, but Lenna finds that, though she has settled down now, she still has a proprensity for doing everything she can herself. 

It takes time, sifting through all of the clothes she has accumulated for Faris—because somehow, the collection of things she has for Faris grows the longer she goes without seeing her sister, and six months seems like forever sometimes. But, eventually, she finds a pair of well-made black pants, stitched with silk red thread. Lenna had them made two weeks after Faris had first left, thinking that maybe if Faris had worn pants more often, she might not have gone. 

Then, though the coat covers most of the torso, Lenna searches for a shirt. She comes up with a simple cream colored one, made of a light, flowey material that will fit beneath the coat and hopefully feel nice against Faris's skin. And, finally, she finds a pair of black, practical shoes that are not too masculine.

It is not that Lenna cares about the type of clothing Faris wears on any other day—but she knows how her normal dress would offend everyone and she wants desperately for this to go well. Wants everyone to love her sister like she does—well, maybe not _exactly_ like she does, because she rather wants Faris’s attention to herself. Lenna decided a long time ago she was allowed one selfish desire, and that was to be Faris. Predictably, Faris had not protested, in fact, had even encouraged—which was unfair, considering that, not long after, she had left. 

Lenna sighs and brings the armful of clothes back to the room, where she finds Faris pacing. “Put these on,” she commands, and Faris just grins her cheshire cat smile, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“Oho, so it’s like that, eh?” Faris quips, shrugging out of her clothes with a simple coiled grace, and Lenna finds herself—she reaches out and stops her sister with a hand to Faris’s newly bared shoulder.

“How did you—?“

Lenna swallows, trailing a finger over the bandage wrapped around her stomach, newly changed and smelling of salve that she can smell as she steps closer, “How did this happen?”

Now that she looks—really looks—at her sister, there are cuts and bruises covering her and angry forming scars, as well as new puckered scars, and what has Faris been doing? Lenna drags a finger over one of the healing scratches that looks to be from some sort of knife. “Piracy, love,” Faris says, voice low and dark, and she pushes into the touch, even though it cannot be comfortable, but Lenna takes the hint, presses hard into one of the bruises. 

Faris grins, wild and feral, and her eyes glint bright and Lenna permits herself, finally, to close the distance, to kiss her sister, and Faris's lips are chapped by the sea and Lenna bites at Faris's lower lip, almost wants it to split so everyone will know where her sister makes port. But she pulls away before Faris can deepen the kiss. “Get dressed,” Lenna says, sharply, pulling away her hands—reluctant, because she wants to map all these new marks, heal them—but Faris has always been strange about healing and if she wants it, she will ask. And if she does not ask, Lenna will press the issue later and her sister will, eventually, capitulate. “And take off some of the… decorations on your coat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Faris grins, winking, and Lenna nearly laughs.

She dresses without pretense, but her gaze remains locked with Lenna’s the whole time, as she puts on the clothes Lenna chose for her, then covers it with her coat, pulling off some of the scarves and pieces of cloth and jewelry that adorn the thing. Faris looks almost presentable, which will simply have to do. Slipping into the shoes, Faris quirks an eyebrow at her. “Lenna, love, you can’t stare so if we’re goin’ to make it through this dinner in peace. Unless you want everyone to know, which, fine by me. I like people knowin’ what’s mine. But I think you’ve got an image to uphold, highness.”

Lenna feels the flush rise, but only cares because the smirk on Faris’s face at the sight of it makes her stomach flutter. “Of course,” she says, but she is still smiling at her sister. 

* * *

Later, as they are getting ready to make their way to the dining room, Lenna catches Faris slipping a dagger into a hidden pocket of the coat. “Faris,” she hisses, grabbing her by the wrist. “You cannot be armed.”

Faris breathes out a sigh, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are steely, sharp, and Lenna wonders, again—what has Faris been doing these last months? “I’m not going in there without so much as a knife, love. There’s too much risk. No one’ll notice a damn thing, unless I have reason to use it. Trust me. I’m not going to stab anyone who looks at me cross-eyed.”

And Lenna hates to capitulate, but what can she do? Faris does not _need_ the knife to kill someone—Lenna has seen her kill monsters with nothing but her fists. But it still goes against every lesson in diplomacy she has ever learned. 

“If you ruin this, Faris…” Lenna begins, then shuts her eyes, trying to find a threat that she can follow through with.

“Have a bit ‘a faith in me, Lenna,” says Faris, voice low, “Should I need to use this, the dinner is already ruined. I will not be the catalyst of catastrophe for you; I swear it.”

That will have to be enough, Lenna decides, and nods. A relieved grin flits over Faris’s face, before she leans down, barely presses her lips against Lenna’s, then pulls away quick as a thunderclap. Had Lenna insisted, her sister might even have listened, and Lenna cannot help but feel warm at that, at the trust her sister has in her. 

She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her sister’s ear, and the two of them continue on to the banquet. 

* * *

The dinner goes, at once, better and worse than Lenna expects. Faris is charming—sparkling and witty, winning over anyone who so much as glances her way. It leaves Lenna to be the more serious one, to make small talk and ask questions. 

However, as dinner winds down, Faris stills in the middle of some made up story about puppies in the castle, and looks over at one of the diplomats representing the new monarch of Walse. “Oh, for the future, I’d recommend against sending pirates at Tycoon’s merchant vessels. All of them will meet unfortunate ends, as the last four that were sent have.”

She says it mildly, but in her coat with her eyes glinting, she looks dangerous, strong, and Lenna bites her lip. Because that is why she insisted on the coat: to show her strength, to protect Lenna and Tycoon's interests. The man stills, biting his lip, staring at Faris. “And how would you—?“

“I have my sources,” she shrugs. “You’re missin' the point. Either stop, or you'll be stopped.”

And it is not—well, there is little finesse to it, but Faris is a pirate. Lenna knows that pirate politics are probably mostly compromised of veiled threats and rum, and mayhap she will need to have words with the new queen of Walse—but even on the seas, Faris is looking out for her. Maybe Lenna is selfish, but it almost makes her smile, her sister's devotion. 

Dinner after that is quieter, less boisterous, even as Faris resumes her charming charade. 

* * *

Once the two of them have turned in for the night, so late that Lenna thinks it might be morning soon, Faris sneaks back into Lenna’s bedroom. “Well, love, did I make you look bad?” she asks, with a grin.

“No—I…” she stops, lifting the covers so that Faris can climb in beside her. “You’ve been protecting Tycoon all this time?”

“Aye. I have.”

And Lenna smiles as Faris crawls into bed with her. She buries her face in her sister’s shoulder, mindful of all the bruises and cuts Faris got in her mad quest to aid Lenna, and mouths at the junction between her neck and shoulder. “I’m lucky to have you.”

“That you are. Now, we’ll sleep, and in the morning, I’ll show you some new tricks I’ve picked up. You’re gonna love 'em.” 


End file.
